<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>if it could only be like this always by aquamarine_nebula</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24585967">if it could only be like this always</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/aquamarine_nebula/pseuds/aquamarine_nebula'>aquamarine_nebula</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Magnus Archives (Podcast)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>5+1 Format, Fluff, M/M, Martin uses pet names and Jon is KO'd, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Pet Names, Scottish Honeymoon Fic, mostly jon-centric</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 05:53:55</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,170</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24585967</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/aquamarine_nebula/pseuds/aquamarine_nebula</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>they're learning to love. let's hope nothing happens to derail them!</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>302</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>if it could only be like this always</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>where can we hide in fair weather, we orphans of the storm?</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The first time was on the train to Scotland, hastily-packed bags at their feet and hands clasped tightly together. Jon was sitting perfectly still, eyes closed and concentrating on their surroundings, Knowing everything that he could. There was nothing suspicious, but it wasn’t like the Beholding didn’t often let him know of danger seconds before it happened. Peter Lukas might be gone, torn apart and cast… somewhere far away, but he had never been the biggest danger. He was even useful, right now. The statement of an Avatar was more nourishing than a normal human. He could push further without risking quite so quick an onset of starvation. Even if he would have risked that and more to keep Martin safe.</p>
<p>Martin was sleeping, a dreamless sleep that Jon hoped would dissipate the vestiges of the fog that still clung to his mind. Even out of the Lonely, he’d still been a little faded, quieter. Like he was trying to fold himself smaller. His eyes weren’t yet back to the shining brown they usually were.</p>
<p>Martin stirred, and Jon rubbed his thumb over his knuckles.</p>
<p>“Jon?” His voice was quiet. Subdued. Everything Martin shouldn’t have to be.</p>
<p>He let go of the Beholding. They were safe. Only Basira knew where they were, and she knew how to keep a secret. For now, they didn’t need to worry. He leant against Martin’s shoulder. “I’m here,” he reassured him.</p>
<p>Martin kissed the top of his head. “You should sleep, love.”</p>
<p>If he’d been standing, Jon was sure he would have fallen over. Love. Love, love, love. He knew that Martin loved him—Knew and knew—but such a casual affirmation. Something present and coming directly from Martin. No vague, cut off sentences or rumours. No past tense, as if he were resigning that feeling to the fog.</p>
<p>What could he say to that? What could he say to the one person who had always trusted and believed in him? Who had loved him so unconditionally?</p>
<p>He raised their entwined hands and pressed a kiss to Martin’s knuckles. Martin’s breath audibly caught in his throat at the gesture, cupping Jon’s cheek with his free hand. Jon’s pulse was pounding in his throat when he tilted up his chin. His eyes were bright, the dull grey finally gone to reveal the warm brown Jon had missed so much over the past few months.</p>
<p>Martin was only a hairbreadth’s away when the elderly lady sat in front of them coughed pointedly.</p>
<p>They pulled away hurriedly, Martin biting his lip against a smile that made Jon’s chest fill with light bubbles.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The only food available at the cabin was instant noodles and canned vegetables, which Martin threw into a pot with a distinct look of disgust as Jon cleaned some plates he found in his hunt through the cupboards. He’d found a map of the area in one of them, and measured the distance to the nearest town—3 km by footpaths. “We probably have time to go to the supermarket today,” he said.</p>
<p>Martin twisted some noodles around his fork and prodded at the very English boiled vegetables. “Let’s do that.”</p>
<p>The sun was setting when they left, Martin easily slipping his hand into Jon’s. It was bracing, the wind through the highlands, the emptiness of their surroundings. London was always so crowded and claustrophobic.</p>
<p>“If it wasn’t for the vertigo I think I’d like the Vast,” he said. Thoughtlessly.</p>
<p>Martin flinched, and Jon squeezed his hand. “Sorry,” he said.</p>
<p>“No, it’s… it’s fine. I just don’t want to think about…” He sighed. “It’s just that we have a chance to leave that behind, maybe.”</p>
<p>Jon held his tongue. He could feel the vague hunger pulling at his mind. Still easy enough to ignore for now, but it would only get worse. He would never be able to leave it behind. Still, if Martin wanted to… leave it. To start over. Jon would be the last person to stop him. Not that he was brave enough to bring it up now. “Okay,” he said, leaning his head against Martin’s shoulder.</p>
<p>“It is beautiful,” Martin said. “I always missed spaces like this in London.”</p>
<p>The supermarket was well-stocked enough with spices and vegetables that Jon was suitably inspired. He wouldn’t be butchering his grandmother’s recipes, at least. Martin made himself… well, <em>useful</em> in getting things from the higher shelves that Jon had no hope in reaching, having to hide a smirk the entire time.</p>
<p>Jon was comparing a couple of bags of chickpeas when he asked: “How <em>is</em> your cooking, Jon?”</p>
<p>Jon blinked. “Fine? Why?”</p>
<p>“Well, you… you set the microwave in the staff room on fire the last time you used it.”</p>
<p>The <em>only</em> time he’d used it. He wrinkled his nose. “I’d never used a microwave before. My grandmother was…” he considered. “Traditional. She didn’t grow up with a microwave so she didn’t see why I would need one. I think my parents had one, though.”</p>
<p>That seemed to satisfy him. “I’ll go get some meat. Did you want any in particular?”</p>
<p>Jon decided on the locally sourced chickpeas, if only to see if chickpeas grown in Scotland were any different. He dropped the bag in the trolley. “Chicken. Lamb if they have any.”</p>
<p>“Okay, sweetheart,” Martin said, dropping a kiss on the top of his head.</p>
<p>Jon dropped the other bag of chickpeas and stared in disbelief as the bag split and the runaway legumes covered the floor. “Oh,” he said.</p>
<p>At least his skin was dark enough that it was difficult to tell when he blushed.</p>
<p>“I’ll go get the meat,” Martin said, obviously holding back a laugh.</p>
<p>Jon made a vague noise of agreement and braced himself when a shop assistant approached.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>They’d settled into a sort-of routine within the week. Jon would wake before Martin, press a kiss to his forehead as he grumbled and rolled away, and be halfway through making breakfast by the time Martin joined him. It took him much longer to wake up than Jon, as he wrapped his arms around Jon’s waist and yawned against his hair. He always seemed fascinated with his shoulders, where the tops Jon stole from Martin were falling off them. He never even avoided the scars, kissing them just the same as the scant clear skin.</p>
<p>The kitchen smelled like home, the freshly crushed garlic, the pitta bread in the oven, the cumin, the slightly sour yoghurt. And it was even better with Martin’s arms around him, the warmth and softness pressed against his back.</p>
<p>“Awake?” Jon asked.</p>
<p>“Almost,” he said, before pulling away and rooting through the cupboard for the tea. “Could you fill the kettle, darling?” he continued.</p>
<p>Jon dropped the wooden spoon into the saucepan, making Martin jump with the noise.</p>
<p>“Are you—?”</p>
<p>“Okay! Good. I’m… fine,” Jon said, throwing tahini and garlic into the pot haphazardly. His grandmother would be horrified. It took another couple of seconds of Martin watching him in amusement before he remembered the kettle.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The hunger was starting to hit him harder, and although he did his best to keep it from Martin, it was within a few days that he brought it up.</p>
<p>Jon had climbed onto Martin where he’d been lounging on the sofa, overcome with a fatigue that he knew wouldn’t fade until he found another statement. The TV was playing a documentary, and Jon idly corrected the information until he drifted off with Martin gently stroking his hair.</p>
<p>He barely remembered his dreams, but he didn’t feel any more rested when he woke up.</p>
<p>“I’ll call Basira and ask her to send some statements, okay?” Martin said when Jon shifted.</p>
<p>“Okay,” he mumbled, muffled against Martin’s chest.</p>
<p>“How bad is it now?”</p>
<p>Jon sat up. “Bearable. I can wait another couple of days before I use the one Basira managed to sneak out. Then it will give her time to send more.”</p>
<p>Martin’s hands had settled on his thighs, rubbing gentle circles with his thumbs. “Do you think a blindfold might help?”</p>
<p>“A <em>blindfold</em>?”</p>
<p>“I was thinking about the, uh… <em>quitting</em> method, and maybe it could help? Short-term, obviously.”</p>
<p>It would be vulnerable, definitely. But it was <em>Martin</em>. He could trust no one if he couldn’t trust Martin.</p>
<p>Jon leant down to kiss him, smiling at the surprised hitch in his breath. “Couldn’t hurt,” he answered. “Do you have anything I can use?”</p>
<p>He did, in fact, and before long he’d fetched a length of soft, black fabric. Jon was sat between his legs, and remained perfectly still as Martin gently tied it around his eyes. He was even careful of his hair, smoothing it down so it wouldn’t catch in the knot.</p>
<p>It was… uncomfortable, frankly. Something so foreign and against what his patron <em>was</em>. Everything inside him fought against it for a long moment, which peaked when Martin’s hands left him.</p>
<p>He jolted, fear flooding him. Fear of the unknown, urging him to rip off the blindfold, to make sure that Martin was still with him, that Martin was <em>safe</em>. He couldn’t lose him, not now, not ever. “<em>Martin</em>,” he exclaimed, and Martin immediately took hold of his shoulders. Jon pushed back, clumsily grabbing his wrists to guide his arms around him. “Don’t let go,” he insisted.</p>
<p>“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Martin repeated, pressing kiss after kiss to every part of exposed skin he could reach. He was squeezing tighter now, almost enough for Jon to be breathless.</p>
<p>The hunger didn’t go away. He could still… <em>Know</em> if he wanted. But without that constant barrage of information that came from humankind’s most important sense, it was easier to focus on something else. Like touch, the way the soft, stretchy fabric felt against his eyes, his hair tickling the exposed skin of his shoulder, and… Martin. Around him, holding him with a strength that took Jon’s breath away, the gentle but desperate way he was kissing his neck, that spot just behind his ear that always <em>had</em> been way too sensitive, his thighs pressed tight around Jon’s hips.</p>
<p>“Breathe, love,” Martin whispered against his shoulder, and Jon obeyed, letting himself sink into Martin’s chest.</p>
<p>He didn’t know what it was, the effect that those little endearments had on him. He’d always assumed he’d had a general hatred for being called anything except his name, still shuddered uncomfortably when he remembered the only time Georgie had called him a pet name. But with Martin, it was <em>somehow</em> different. Maybe it was just how absolutely he trusted Martin. Maybe everything he’d avoided with Georgie would be different with Martin. It was a trust that he’d had to purposefully <em>choose</em> in the beginning, of course, but now was easy as breathing.</p>
<p>“Okay?” Martin asked softly.</p>
<p>“Y-yes,” Jon replied, barely able to remember how mouths worked.</p>
<p>“Better?”</p>
<p>“Easier to focus on something else. So yes. Just… just don’t let go.”</p>
<p>“I won’t,” Martin vowed.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Martin was, as Jon had discovered <em>much</em> too late, far from an idiot.</p>
<p>He was more observant than Jon, for one—Ceaseless Watcher be damned—sharp and quick to pick up on clues that others overlooked, and brilliant at weaving lies that were close enough to truth that they could barely be distinguished.</p>
<p>“So… we had three dogs when I was growing up, I never came out to my mother, the reason I like spiders so much is because they were the subject of the first documentary I ever watched, and I…” He bit his lip against a laugh that threatened to bubble out. “I was suspended from high school for smoking behind the bike sheds.”</p>
<p>Jon snorted. “Well, the last one is the most typically British high school experience, so I’m thinking that’s true.”</p>
<p>Martin grinned.  </p>
<p>“You’re not really a dog person, though,” Jon continued.</p>
<p>“Spider person,” Martin joked.</p>
<p>“Oh, <em>don’t</em>,” Jon said with a shudder. “So, is that the lie?”</p>
<p>Martin shook his head. “I never came out to my mother.”</p>
<p>Jon was quiet for a moment, then reached to pull the blindfold away from his eyes. “Why not?” he asked softly.</p>
<p>“I didn’t have to,” he answered. “She, uh… walked in on me and my first boyfriend.”</p>
<p>Jon blinked, before laughing. “Well <em>that</em> must have been a bit awkward.”</p>
<p>Martin’s skin, being a couple of shades lighter than Jon’s, was therefore a lot easier to tell when he was blushing. Especially with how close they were to each other. “She was not… impressed,” he said carefully.</p>
<p>Jon pressed a chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth.</p>
<p>“Okay, honey. Your turn.”</p>
<p>Jon had been on his knees to easier reach Martin’s mouth, and when his strength gave way he collapsed awkwardly on his side. Martin patted his cheek. “Do you… would you prefer if I didn’t call you l-like that? You always react quite…” he trailed off and pulled his hand away from Jon’s cheek.</p>
<p>Jon caught it, kissed the knuckles. “I don’t want you to stop,” he admitted. “I just… I’m not used to it. I’ve been… I’ve been alone for a while.”</p>
<p>Martin watched him, picked up one of the curls that were lying haphazardly on the bedsheets. He twisted it around his finger before lying down next to him, easily shifting to accommodate Jon as he settled more comfortably in his arms.</p>
<p>There was hope bubbling in his chest. He’d spent the last couple of weeks trying to quash it, <em>surely</em> something would go disastrously wrong today, or the next day, or the next, but he couldn’t help it. Martin’s easy optimism was rubbing off on him, that simple but powerful wish of <em>happiness</em>.</p>
<p>“We should probably start thinking of getting jobs,” Jon said. He twined their fingers together, tracing the lines on his palms. He paused at Martin’s ring finger but shook off the idea. Too soon.</p>
<p>“I think the library’s hiring,” Martin said. “And the supermarket is probably hiring.” He pulled a face at that but sighed, tucking his face against Jon’s neck.</p>
<p>It was exhilarating to plan something not about the Institute, for once. He hadn’t even <em>tried</em> Knowing anything for days. Maybe the Eye’s hold on him was weakening. Maybe Eli—<em>Jonah</em> had found someone else to torture.</p>
<p>“Let’s try the library first,” Jon said.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Jon sang more, these days.</p>
<p>It was a small thing that Martin had noticed within the first couple of days. When Jon was relaxed, he was always singing something quietly. Everything from classic rock to whatever they were listening to on the radio. He’d sang Lacrimosa in the shower the other day. More than that, he was <em>good</em>. All the control and sweetness of someone who had grown up singing in a choir.</p>
<p>Martin tried to concentrate on the book he’d bought the day previously, but his eye was continuously drawn to the sliver of the kitchen he could see through the open door. Jon was dancing in and out of view as he rummaged around the kitchen. The kettle boiled a couple of times and his voice was louder as he fought with the noise. The smell of cumin and lemon and tahini and garlic spilled from the kitchen, a smell Martin was quickly coming to associate with <em>home</em>. With comfort and love and everything he’d barely let himself dream to hope for.</p>
<p>It wouldn’t last. But it <em>could</em>.</p>
<p>A steaming cup of tea appeared in his peripheral and Jon dropped a kiss on the top of his head. “Here you go, darling,” he said.</p>
<p>He’d finally been the first to wake this morning. Jon was beautiful in the early morning light falling across the bed, wearing another of Martin’s t-shirts that he’d managed to squirrel away. He’d been curled towards Martin as if even in his sleep he was seeking that warmth.</p>
<p>He hadn’t been able to bear pulling away or moving, in case he woke him and shattered the moment.</p>
<p>Martin took the tea on autopilot, and his mouth went dry when he registered Jon’s words. His eyes were welling up with tears. He <em>never</em> could have expected this, from Jon or <em>anyone</em>. Jon was always so gentle with him now. Not walking on eggshells or anything like that. Just… loving. In a way that Martin had never experienced before.</p>
<p>“So, there’s that new café opening up in town,” Jon started. “I thought we…” he trailed off when he saw Martin’s face. “Martin?” he asked.</p>
<p>That was another thing. He’d always loved how Jon had said his name, the way his voice curled around the first syllable. When they’d first met just that was enough to send shivers crawling up his spine. But now when it was said so gently, so affectionately, it was almost unbearable.</p>
<p>Martin gave a short laugh as Jon scrambled to get both their tea safe on the low wooden table and climb into Martin’s lap at the same time, pushing his hair back from his forehead to kiss it. “What’s wrong?” he asked desperately, brushing tears away with his thumb where they were falling over his cheeks. Miraculously none of the tea had spilled.</p>
<p>Martin laughed again, pressing his face into Jon’s thin chest as Jon tightened his grip around him. Like he was afraid Martin would fade away.</p>
<p>It had been tempting even nowadays to fade, to give up on this happiness that he <em>wanted</em> to deserve but couldn’t. There was still a chance it wouldn’t work, but that was life, right? Didn’t mean he couldn’t love with everything he could muster whilst it <em>did</em> last.</p>
<p>“I’m fine, I just didn’t expect it,” he explained.</p>
<p>Jon chuckled, worry still warm in his eyes. God, he was beautiful like this, hair loose and falling over his shoulders, still mussed from where Martin had been clutching it earlier. He pushed his hair aside so he could press a kiss there. He never wore his own clothes around the house, and it satisfied some jealous part of Martin that he didn’t like to acknowledge. Well, he’d never <em>claimed</em> to be perfect.</p>
<p>“And you thought <em>you</em> should stop using pet names,” Jon scolded, still stroking his hair, dotting kisses on his forehead. Generally acting like a fussy mother hen. “Hypocrite,” he continued fondly.</p>
<p>It just felt so good to be held, to have someone who was just as happy to take care of him as Martin was. He hadn’t realised until their first night here, Jon lying on his chest, just how much he craved someone’s touch. It had almost been uncomfortable, the way his skin tingled wherever they touched. Some parts of him had constantly been urging him to back away and put more distance between them, but Jon had looked so exhausted on their journey and in the end he couldn’t bear to wake him. Even now a hateful part in the back of his mind was encouraging him to reject Jon’s caresses. He flinched away sometimes, when Jon caught him off-guard, but it was becoming easier to accept.</p>
<p>“Okay?” Jon asked.</p>
<p>“Yes,” Martin said.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>